


Connections

by ranguvar82



Series: Silence and Strength [24]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: It doesn't happen often. Most mortals are either repulsed or intrigued by him. But once in a while, there's a very special connection.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Silence and Strength [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630903
Comments: 8
Kudos: 189





	Connections

Connections

It doesn’t happen often. Most mortals that see him are either intrigued, repulsed, or an odd mixture of both. He supposes it’s the serpent yellow eyes and multitude of scars. But it could also be that whole ‘demon’ thing. The ones that are intrigued are swiftly chased away by a very jealous angel(Aziraphale will swear up and down he’s simply being protective, but Crowley’s pretty sure that doesn’t mean _growling_ at people), and the ones who are repulsed, well, they tend to stay away on their own, usually in between spouting Hellfire and brimstone, which is amusing in its own way.

So when a child comes up to him when he’s sitting under a tree in Mesopotamia, to say he is shocked is putting it mildly. She’s small, even as most mortal children go, and she has wide, dark eyes and hair. She’s rail thin, almost as skinny as he is, and he can see her ribs. Her thumb is lodged firmly in her mouth, and she stares solemnly at him. He stares back, and she holds out the hand that’s not lodged in her mouth. In it is a small loaf of bread. He blinks at it, then slowly reaches out and takes it. He doesn’t normally eat, but this bread smells fresh baked. Eyes on her, he takes a small bite. The taste floods his mouth and he grins. The child grins back, and Crowley tears off a hunk and hands it to her. She shakes her head, pointing to him, and he gently presses the hunk into her hands, giving her a softer version of his Tempting Glare.

She dislodges her thumb, points at the bread, then at him. He frowns, then brightens. He tears off another hunk, then bites into it, staring into her eyes. She grins and copies his action. He tears off two more pieces, hands her one, then eats his, never taking his eyes off her. She copies again and again, until they have shared the entire loaf. He smiles at her in thanks, then makes a drinking motion, although he’s pretty sure this small mortal won’t understand. She blinks, then runs off, and Crowley sighs, ready to simply miracle up some wine.

Much to his shock, she returns moments later with a wine skin. He can hear the liquid sloshing inside. With a smile, she hands it over. He takes a drink, and grins at her.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!” Crowley looks up from the wine to see an older woman, obviously the younger mortal’s mother. “I’ve been worried sick! Sir, I hope she didn’t bother you.” Crowley shakes his head. The mother sighs in relief. “Come along, Hannah.”

The small girl-Hannah-waves happily to Crowley before going over and taking her mother’s hand. He settles back under the tree, feeling oddly happy.

“Is that wine?” Crowley opens his eyes and grins at Aziraphale, nodding. “Oh, lovely.” The angel takes a sip, making a face. “Maybe not. What have you been doing?” Crowley points towards Hannah and her mother.

‘The small mortal came over. We had bread.’

“Oh, how lovely. You know...Hannah, she’s like you.” Crowley blinks at this.

‘She used to be an angel?’ Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“No, you daft demon. I mean she can’t speak.” Crowley’s eyes widen in shock, and Aziraphale smiles. “You felt a connection with her, didn’t you?” Crowley nods, grinning.

(When the Flood happens, and Aziraphale has made it onto the Ark, he is less than surprised to discover two extra passengers hidden deep belowdecks. Damn that wily serpent.)

Crowley, much to Aziraphale’s surprise, is drawn to children. Maybe it’s the fact that their fates aren’t set in stone yet. Maybe it’s the insatiable curiosity. But whatever it is, they fascinate the demon. And are fascinated by him in turn. They flock to him, babbling away, asking him to please play with them, to share food with them, and so on.

But once in a while, a child will come along that Crowley connects with. They’re usually smaller than most, and often times are neglected or...broken in some way. Crowley feels a kinship with them, an understanding of just what it is like to go through life broken and burdened. The mutes, the deaf, those who simply struggle to speak or understand. Crowley is drawn to them all. But it is the ones who are hurt that draw his Wrath.

He’s no stranger to vicious abuse, so when he and Aziraphale are in Gaul and he hears a child wailing in pain, he miracles them to the source so quickly that it makes Aziraphale blink. “Crowley, what...” the angel’s voice dies as he takes in what Crowley has already seen. A child, rail thin and covered in rags, is cowering in the dusty road, while above them a man dressed in finery is kicking their ribs, screaming. “YOU FILTHY, DISGUSTING ANIMAL, HOW DARE YOU ACCOST ME! I’LL TEACH YOU A LESSON YOU WON’T SOON..”

Crowley moves faster than mortal eyes can see, slamming the man hard against the wall of a nearby house. “Unhand me, Sir!” Crowley snarls, then looks over his shoulder. Aziraphale has come over and is comforting the child as best as he can. He nods before gently turning the child’s face away.

Crowley cracks his neck, grins, and lets out the demon. The man’s scream of horror echoes, and he slumps to the ground in a dead faint. Crowley changes back, then comes over, kneeling beside the child and angel. ‘Okay?’

The child-this close Crowley is fairly sure they’re a boy-stares at him, then nods. Crowley grins, then subtly snaps his fingers. An apple appears in his hand, and he presses it into the boy’s. Aziraphale tries not to giggle. “A bit on the nose, aren’t we?” Crowley shrugs. “Now, my dear”, the angel says to the boy, “you’d best be getting home. Your parents must be worried sick.” A subtle miracle ensures that the boy’s family(parents and baby sister) will have enough food and money to get them through the upcoming winter, and that the boy will soon have an apprenticeship with the local silver smith, a kind man who treats all his employees well.

The boy smiles, then throws his arms around them both. Aziraphale looks flustered, but Crowley is radiant. Two wet, messy smacks to two cheeks, and then the boy is off and running. Aziraphale blinks. “My. That was...”

‘Yeah.’ Crowley grins like a loon. ‘I love the small ones.’

“I know, my dear.”

Crowley sighs, pressing himself into his angel’s side. ‘Just wish I could do more.’

“I know that too. But you...connect with them, on a level that I never could. Angels are beings of love, and I can offer love and comfort to a distressed child, but you...you understand them, in a way that I never will.” Crowley waves a hand to indicate his scars, and Aziraphale shakes his head. “No, not because of that. I think...even if none of that had happened, you would still have that connection with them. It’s nothing to do with your scars. It’s everything to do with you.”

Now, millenia later, Aziraphale watches from the back porch as Crowley is chased around their garden by a gaggle of the village children. He’s grinning that loon grin, ribbons trailing from his arms as he stays just one step ahead of the giggling throng. It’s May Day, and the demon had volunteered their massive garden for a party. The children, led by Dahlia, had instantly decreed that the tall, skinny Tony would make an excellent Maypole. Crowley had put up a very token protest before allowing himself to be draped in ribbons.

“He’s so good with them.” Aziraphale turns to look at Sara Richards, Dahlia’s mother. The angel nods.

“He always has been, right from the beginning. He connects with them.” He laughs as Crowley is tackled, falling to the ground in mock pain. The children quickly divest him of ribbons before hauling him to his feet, clamoring for him to “come show us your cherry trees, please Tony, we want to climb them!”

Grinning, Crowley lets them drag him towards the trees.


End file.
